


Many a Mused Rhyme

by blakefancier



Series: Angel/Doyle series [2]
Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-18 23:04:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were moments when Angel imagined he could still taste Doyle in his mouth, bitter and warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Many a Mused Rhyme

There were moments when he imagined he could still taste Doyle in his mouth, bitter and warm. He could not help but regret that night and the torture that followed: the uncomfortable silences, the stammered conversations, and the eyes that refused to meet his. Angel wanted him, in bed; legs wrapped around him or maybe on his stomach, face pressed into a pillow to muffle his groans of pleasure. But he wasn't sure he could hurt Doyle that way, the way he hurt Buffy. God, it always came back to her didn't it. He loved her, even knowing they could never be, he loved her with the purity of fire.

And Doyle loved him. He had seen it in his eyes, the way they softened before sliding away, the way he said Angel's name in the heat of passion. If he closed his eyes he could see the warm, sated look on Doyle's face after he had, well, after. He had hoped that the need to fuck him would pass, but it only grew worse. But then, it wasn't really about fucking him was it? No, if it was plain lust he could handle it. A few sessions of masturbation and a little use of his imagination could take care of that. What he wanted was Doyle's pleasure, to watch his face as he slid deep inside of him, to kiss him as he moaned, his body moving underneath him.

This was not helping at all.

But what was he suppose to do when all he could think about was Doyle? What the hell was he supposed to do?

He was burrowed under the covers this time. A shield against vampires who might molest him as he slept. God, he shouldn't do this. If he had any conscience at all he'd walk away. He pulled the covers off and stared at the boxer-clad figure. He looked so young and vulnerable against the pure white sheets. Angel traced the side of Doyle’s face with a knuckle. He jerked away, his eyes opening wide.

“Angel.” He scrambled into a sitting position. “What are you doing here?”

He sat down, and ran a thumb over Doyle’s lips. “I think you know.”

Doyle frowned and shook his head.

“Tell me no, that you don’t want this, and I’ll go.” He trailed his fingers over Doyle’s chest.

“I can’t.” A look of shame crossed the demon’s face.

“I know.” Angel grabbed him by the hair and pulled him close. Their lips brushed together lightly.

“What about the curse?” His voice was soft, distant

“I love Buffy and Buffy loves me. We don’t have to worry about that, do we?” Angel swept him up into another kiss, ignoring the look of pain on Doyle’s face. He refused Doyle’s love, denied his own. Better this, the absence of affection, than the alternative. Surely Doyle understood this.

He broke the kiss and pushed Doyle back against the mattress. He stood and undressed quickly. Doyle’s eyes traveled over is body, breath ragged. Angel slid the boxers from the demon’s body, staring at the erect penis. He ran a finger over the head, feeling sticky wetness. Doyle groaned and lifted his hips.

“Tell me you want this Doyle. Say it.” It was a plea, an affirmation that what he was doing wasn’t completely wrong.

“Yes, my- Angel, please.” His eyes were squeezed shut, hands fisting the sheets.

Angel straddled his body, bending his head to lick Doyle’s sternum. The taste of salt and warmth tickled him to the core. His tongue tasted flesh, licked at the hardened nipples, teasing them with gentle nips. He ignored the writhing of his bedmate, the hands that now clenched his hair, trying to coax his mouth between parted thighs. He nuzzled Doyle’s belly, then sucked the tender flesh, leaving red bruises.

With gentle nudges he rolled Doyle onto his belly. The demon buried his face into a pillow, clenching it in both hands. His hips thrusted rhythmically into the mattress so that Angel had to still them with his hands and place a kiss on the small of his back.

Angel fumbled with the clothing he had left strewn on the floor and after a moment produced a bottle of oil. His hands shook slightly as he poured it into his palm and slicked himself. When had he gotten so hard? He parted Doyle’s ass cheeks and began to run an oiled finger over the opening there. Doyle’s body flinched away and he murmured something reassuring. The finger slid in easily and he fucked Doyle with it a moment before adding a second then a third. Doyle was making noises that came very close to sobs and Angel might have stopped except that he was thrusting back against the fingers.

Doyle was close, so close, and so was he, just from the heat and tightness surrounding his fingers. He pulled them out and positioned himself. In one swift movement he was in and Doyle had cried out in a ragged groan and was still. He gave the demon a moment to adjust before moving, enjoying the heat and smell of sex. He kissed the back of Doyle’s neck, letting the sweat soaked hair tickle his face.

It was so good, almost more than he could bear. It was sticky and slick and messy and he was groaning now, speeding up. Doyle’s body met his thrusts and soon he was there, his hands ripping sheets, and teeth, biting till he broke the skin of Doyle’s shoulder and the taste of blood flooded his mouth.

No! He pulled away, too roughly for any comfort, but he would not allow his hunger to get the better of him. Doyle was sobbing again, from pain or pleasure, he could not tell. He wanted to take him in his arms, kiss him and tell him it would be all right, that he…cared about him. But he couldn’t. He got up and began to dress though his body wanted nothing more than drowse in bed.

“You’re leaving?” Doyle’s accent was even thicker than usual.

“Yeah.” He looked over at him, noticing that Doyle’s face was wet.

“You could stay?” He said it shyly, like a little boy.

“I have things to do before I go to the office.” He finished tying his shoes.

“Okay.”

“Doyle, if it could be different—“ He broke off. “I love Buffy. I care about you, but I love Buffy. Don’t make this difficult. I wish it could be different, but it can’t. Do you understand?”

Doyle stared up at the ceiling. “I understand. I’ll see you at the office then?”

It hurt, it shouldn’t have, but it did. Breaking someone’s heart was never easy, especially when yours was breaking at the same time. He touched a cheek with his fingers and kissed him gently on the mouth. Doyle smiled at him, a wry, sad smile.

Then Angel got up and walked out, again, knowing that he had made the biggest mistake of his life, knowing it was the only thing he could do.


End file.
